private lessons
by wellthatdepends
Summary: Daryl Dixon, dance uncle. [AU / bethyl smut week]


**A/N:** HOORAY for Bethyl Smut Week! Enjoy my day one offering. I blame my addiction to Dance Moms, as well as those gifs with Reedus and the mirrored wall. Yeah, you know which ones. Don't pretend you don't. xx

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He doesn't know how he found himself in this predicament.

Well, that's a lie. He does, and he blames Carol.

Three weeks ago his niece joined the junior competition team at her dance studio. Which meant more classes and later rehearsals and Daryl, lucky son of a bitch Daryl, is the only one that works around the corner, that finishes the same time as her dance class, and he gets the great privilege of picking Sophia up. And sure, it was fine those first few days, when she would run out and meet him in the car park. But one day her rehearsal ran late, and when he went inside to hurry her up, he met the dance teacher.

And Christ, he wishes he hadn't.

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Beth Greene is a cock tease sent from heaven.

Today she's wearing the same black leotard as her students, the same white tights, her hair in the same perfect bun. She's correcting Sophia's arms when he walks into the viewing room. Stands in the corner, and ignores the other mothers when they stop talking when he enters.

"Which one's yours?" one asks, giving him an appraising glance.

"My niece," he grunts, "Sophia."

"Oh, _Sophia_." And apparently they all just _adore_ the young girl, the newest addition to the team. Daryl doesn't know if they're sincere, apparently Carol can't stand them, but he isn't paying attention.

He's paying attention to the blonde angel, currently smiling at him.

"Think she wants us in there," one of the mothers murmurs, and they move past him quickly, and he trails a bit behind. He doesn't listen when she's talking costumes and make up, just stands and tries not to stare too much.

"Sophia, can I talk to your…"

"Uncle," he finishes, "I'm her Uncle."

Sophia scurries off and he knows he's screwed.

"Usually I give this to the moms," she smiles wryly, "costume assignments and all. I know Carol works, so maybe you could give it to her?"

"Yeah, sure," he replies, taking the bag from her, trying to ignore the way their fingers brush and the way her cheeks redden slightly.

"Can you stay late tomorrow?" she blurts out and his eyes widen slightly, "I want to have an acro private with Sophia, it will only be an extra hour."

A Friday night spent watching Beth Greene demonstrate her flexibility?

"Yeah, sure."

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He's so fucking transparent. Hates himself a little because of it, just like he hates Merle and the giant smirk he gives him when he hands Carol the bag containing the costume.

"The dance teacher, huh?"

"Shut up," Daryl snaps, lighting up a cigarette on the porch.

"She is a fine piece," Merle smirks, "real flexible."

"You're married," Daryl rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, but I ain't blind," his brother chuckles, "you gonna be some kind of dance uncle now? Go to all the competitions, do hair and make up?"

"Get fucked," Daryl growls and Merle slaps him on the back.

"No, little brother, _you._ Pretty sure it's long over due."

And fuck Merle. Because he's _right_. Because it's been too long and maybe his mind is playing tricks on him. Scratch that, maybe his _cock_ is playing tricks on him. Because there's no way in hell that the universe would dangle a fantasy come to life like that right under his nose.

Absolutely no way.

 **.**

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In the small viewing gallery, he shifts uncomfortably.

He hates it. He loves it. Beth Greene, her legs stretched over her head, practically touching the ground. Doing an elbow stand, a side aerial.

Gets so distracted looking at her that he almost misses his niece altogether. Misses seeing how _good_ she is at it.

After rehearsal, Beth pops up to the viewing room, smiling as she enters.

"Enjoying the show?"

He clears his throat awkwardly. Shifts in his seat. Rubs a hand over his face. From this close, he can see the thin layer of sweat over her skin. See how tight the booty shorts and crop top actually are.

 _Calm the fuck down, Darylina. It's just a woman for fuck's sake._

Yeah, thanks Merle.

"She's, uh, gettin' real good."

"She's a natural," Beth takes a seat beside him, "better make sure she doesn't run away and join the circus or anything. I need her for my team."

"Will do," he smirks and she grins, looking through the glass down at the studio.

"Are you good with your hands?"

He swings his head towards her, mouth agape. She blushes, giggles, slapping a hand to her face.

"I mean, that's not what I meant…oh no."

If she's sexy when she's doing an elbow stand, then she's downright adorable when she's embarrassed.

"I meant," she tries to compose herself, still laughing, "are you good at building things?"

"Yeah," Daryl nods, "I can build things."

"I can pay you," Beth blurts out, and Daryl frowns.

"Nah, Beth," he tells her and notes the way she bites her lip when he says her name, "you tell me what you want and I'll get it done."

He's hopeless for this woman. He truly is.

But, he takes a moment to look at her, to take in the flush of her skin and the dark glint in her eyes and the way she has angled herself closer to him and maybe, just maybe, she's feeling this too.

The signs are all there. Just have to know how to read them.

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Carol has the week off from work, so she plays the role of dance mom. Something that Sophia and Merle find hilarious and they teases her to no end about. Asks her which "Dance Mom" she is, because sure, he'll grumble when his young step-daughter watches the show, but he'll still sit down and watch five consecutive episodes with her.

"They asked me where my hot brother in law was," Carol tells them, after dinner one night, "apparently you've made quite an impression on these ladies."

"They thought I was some kinda pervert," Daryl mutters through a mouthful of food, "looked at me like I was a creep."

"Well, I think their tune has changed," Carol teases, "there was a ten minute conversation about your arms."

"Stop it," he grumbles and Merle hoots with laughter.

"Beth asked after you as well," Carol mentions casually, "was just _so_ grateful that you are helping her with the stage props."

Merle grins and opens his mouth to says something but Sophia jabs him in the side.

"Ow, girl, what was that for?"

"Don't tease Daryl," she reprimands, "I need him to start dating Miss Beth so I can get extra privates, alright? Don't mess this up for me."

For a split second he thinks he'd rather have been at the receiving end of Merle's crude teasing than the truth of an eleven-year-old girl.

"She's smitten," Carol tells him quietly, when he's helping clean up the table, "she's a lovely girl, but I could tell she was a bit disappointed when I walked through the doors and not you."

"It ain't like that," Daryl mutters and Carol gives him a look.

"She stopped wearing make up Tuesday onwards. And her clothes were a lot more casual then the Monday when she thought it would be you picking up Sophia and not me."

"Doesn't mean a thing."

(Oh, it does.)

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He finishes the props. Sands them so there are no splinters. Paints them, delivers them to the dance studio.

The look on her face, you'd think he'd given her the _world_.

"These are great," she breathes, "thank you so much, Daryl. I wish there was a way I could repay you."

 _There is_ , that voice in his head shouts, _oh, girl, you know there is_.

"Was no trouble," he grumbles and she places a hand on his arm.

"Well, I sure do appreciate it all the same."

The kids start to file in, breaking the spell and he remembers that they're in the dance studio, that the mother's are watching from the viewing room, that he is standing too close and she is looking at him like he's some kind of prince charming and god, was there always this many mirrors in this room?

"Will you be at the competition Saturday?" she asks, taking a step back, smiling shyly.

"Yeah," he replies, his default answer, like he could ever deny her anything, "yeah I will."

"Good," she breathes, "that's real good."

He doesn't know what, but he can see the wheels turning. He can see her eyes twinkling. He can see her desire, clear as day.

 **.**

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Carol decides she isn't cut out to be dance mom. It's hard to give a crap about the inane drama and conflict when you spent nearly ten years of your life in an abusive relationship. Brushes it off, brushes the mothers off and deals with the drama by ignoring it.

Merle however, nearly gets into a fistfight in the parking lot.

Still, with a first place trophy for their group routine, and a first place for Sophia's acro solo, Beth deems it one of their more successful competitions.

He tells her he'll meet her at the studio after, as he loads his truck up with the props and she ushers the kids back into the bus.

"Can you stick around?" she asks, "I need to talk to you about something."

And because he's a fool for her, he agrees.

Merle teases him all the way home. Tells him that she's probably going to ask him to build another prop. How maybe next time she offers payment in exchange for services, he should get her to suck him off.

"Or a hand job," Merle offers, "sure she'd be more than happy to oblige."

"Go to hell, Merle."

Safe to say, it's a long drive back to the studio.

They finish putting the props back in the studio when the bus shows up. The kids and their mothers pour out, grabbing bags, chatting loudly. He's smoking to the side with Merle, and Carol walks over, wheeling Sophia's suitcase behind her.

"You're playing dance mom next competition," Carol moans. Merle chuckles, slinging an arm around her shoulder.

"Those moms got nothin' on you, babe," he squeezes her tight and she smiles, rolling her eyes.

"All that matters is Sophia enjoyed herself," Carol tells them, and they glance at the young girl, laughing and celebrating with her friends.

Yeah, that little girl deserves the world.

Across the car park, Beth dismisses them, giving them each a hug, their mothers happy and not complaining for a change. She meets his gaze and gives him a slow smile.

"I'll catch up with you later," he tells Carol and Merle, and makes his way into the building.

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"You really came through for me tonight," Beth enters the studio, her wedges loud on the wooden floors. The door clicks shut behind her, and she leans against the mirrored wall.

"But you do that, you know," she says softly, "you always seem to know what I need."

"You need something now?" he asks gruffly, and she shifts, her palms flat against the mirror.

"Yeah," Beth murmurs, "I need _you_."

And there it is. This dance they've been dancing since day one, coming to a conclusion.

"You want this, Beth?" he says quietly, "You want this here?"

She lunges forward, hands curling around his neck, pulling him towards her. Their lips meet in a hard, frenzied kiss, her lithe frame pressing up against him.

"Fuck," he curses between kisses, pushing her against the mirror, "fuck, _Beth_."

Her hands brace against the mirror as she arches closer to him, never breaking the kiss. It's eager and forceful and a build up of tension exploding in a wave of passion. She mews into his mouth, and he finds the hem of her sundress.

"Just rip it off," she pants, "I don't even care."

He won't though. He bunches it in his hands, slowly pushing it up her thighs, holding it with one hand while the other grips her ass. Her skin is smooth and her ass is firm and it's everything he imagined it would be beneath the booty shorts and leotards.

"Do you know," she gasps, his hands moving up her hips, waist, skimming her breasts, "how many nights I dreamt of this? How every time you entered the studio I imagined you fucking me against this mirror?"

The dress is gone and he pulls the tie from her hair, letting her blonde hair spill across her shoulders. She's gorgeous, but he already knew that. Pale skin, taut from years of training and conditioning. He licks a trail down her neck, across her collarbone, to the swell of her breasts. He loves the way her breath hitches, loves the way her arms fall down to clutch at him, scrambling for contact. Her bra has a front clasp, and the second she whines his name, he's got it open and is lavishing her nipples with his tongue.

" _Daryl_ ," she whimpers and it spurs him on, makes him want to work harder. Makes him want to hear her say his name like that again and again and again.

"Tell me what you want, Beth," he growls, "tell me what you need."

"I need, oh _god_ ," she moans, as he slips one hand into her panties, beneath her folds to find her clit, "I need…"

"Gotta tell me," he's hot and cold, biting and licking her neck, bruising her, marking her, "tell me or I'll stop."

She can't speak though. Can barely breath. Can't stand unassisted so he grabs her leg and wraps it around his waist, fingers digging into her thigh.

"Wanna know what I want?" he murmurs, rubbing her clit slowly, relishing the way she grinds against him, "I want to taste you, watch you come apart under my tongue. And then I want your lips around my cock while you touch yourself. Wearing that fucking leotard."

With a high-pitched wail, she comes there and then, head slamming back against the mirror. Her hips buck and he pulls his hand back, licking her juices off his fingers.

And something in her just _snaps_.

She's not indecisive anymore. She's not so incoherent to the point she can't see through the orgasmic haze. She is assertive, she is domineering. She is undoing his belt and pushing his pants down over his ass and grabbing his already hard cock.

"I want you to fuck me, Daryl," she breathes, "that's how it works, right? I tell you what I want and you get it done?"

"Yeah, girl," he says roughly, kissing her hard, like he's trying to steal the breath from her body. She pants and falls against the glass and he slips her panties down her legs. She hitches her leg over his and he shakes his head, grabs her waist and turns her around.

"Put your hands against the glass."

There's no hesitation, as her hands find purchase against the mirror, when she spreads her legs wide. All there is is a look of pure lust as her eyes meet his in the mirror and he sinks into her in one fluid motion. She gasps, her hands sliding, but she catches herself. It's a slow rhythm, as he finds his pace, finds the spot that makes her moan the loudest. Listens for the breath hitch when he finds it and continues to hit it over and over again, quickening in his motions.

He isn't going to last.

In the mirror, their eyes meet as he thrusts in and out of her, his hips slapping against her ass. She reaches down, finds her clit and presses, stroking herself, the pressure adjusting with every slam of his hips.

"I want you to have the things you want too," she breathes, "I want…"

She doesn't finish her thought, not when her orgasm hits like a steam train, throwing her off balance, falling into his arm. She clenches around him, warm and tight and so perfect that he's spiralling out of control. Presses her up against the mirror, because he's not sure he can stay upright himself, not when the aftershocks of her orgasm are still drawing out his.

"Daryl," she whispers. He slumps over her, forehead pressed against the mirror, panting.

"Think we're gonna have to clean that glass," he murmurs, noting the handprints and smudges decorating the mirror.

She lets out a breathy laugh, her head lolling back to rest against his shoulder. He presses a kiss to the side of her head, and she nuzzles into him.

"Hmm," she hums, "but we should hurry. I need something else from you tonight."

He smirks as her hand finds his cock and squeezes.

"Whatever you want, Beth. Whatever you want."


End file.
